(This is another one of my mother's fictional short stories, written in the late 1940's.
She wrote a lot of stories dealing with WWII and its effect on relationships. I am posting this one in connection with Memorial Day, in remembrance of my parents' love story. This is a picture of her with red roses from my father. She told him in a letter that red roses were her favorite flowers, and all through my life, I remember him getting her red roses.)
RED ROSES
by
Nedra Littlefield Culp
This is our wedding anniversary and tonight I want to write
you to try and tell you of my love for you, my love that is and always will be
deep and everlasting. We have been
married for five years, August 5, 1942 to August 5, 1947.
I well remember the night I met you at the station when you
came home on your first leave from the Army.
You were cocky and handsome as you stepped off the train. I watched you proudly, happy that it was I
who was waiting for you, I who was engaged to you and who was desperately in
love with you. Then you saw me, and soon
I was in your arms, and you kissed me long and hard.
“Let me look at you, Darling,” you said. “Oh, Honey, you’re even sweeter than I
dreamed.”
We stood there holding each other until people began to
stare. We were so deliriously happy that
night.
“Let’s get married right away, tomorrow, maybe.”
We were in my apartment and you were holding me close,
telling me all of the things I had been longing to hear those many long month.
“Tomorrow, Darling, but you know I’d have to have time to
get ready. A girl just can’t get married
on a moment’s notice.”
“She can if she wants to like I want to.”
It took only a few kisses to convince me that there was no
need for waiting, and the next day we borrowed your brother’s car and drove to
Nevada. I had always pictured myself
floating down the aisle in a misty white gown and a trailing veil, with you in
tails, but here we were, a couple of scared kids in front of the Justice of the
Peace. You were in khaki, while I had on
a short blue dress and a little white hat.
I carried red roses. Red roses,
which have been the symbol of our love since that day you gave me that single
rose.
We had as our witnesses the wife of the Justice of the Peace
and his son. It was soon over and we
were back in our car. You looked at me
with that funny little crooked smile of yours.
“You don’t look any different now that you’re Mrs. Ted
Russell. How do you feel?”
“I don’t know yet. It
was over so fast it seems it never happened.”
We found a motel with a Vacancy sign and got a room. We ate in the restaurant nearby and later
danced to the jukebox. We were
deliriously happy that night.
“Are you sorry you couldn’t have a big wedding?” you asked
me after we had gone to our room.
“Darling, I was a fool to think that it could matter. The only thing in this world that has any
importance is just you and I and our being together for now and always.”
Then followed 7 days of joy and ecstasy. We became acquainted with each other all over
again. The days passed in a dream, a
dream that had to end too soon.
You told me you would send for me as soon as you were
transferred to your new station. It was
almost unbearable to say goodbye. I felt
I had just found you only to lose you again, but you comforted me, telling me
it would only be for a short time. I
remember how you looked as you sat on the edge of the bed. Your eyes were filled with sleep, your hair
tousled and falling over one eye. I told
you you were the most handsome man in the world, and you said I was the most
beautiful girl. Then you told me I must
get right out of bed and hurry, as it would soon be train time.
We stood on the platform at the station. How many times did you kiss me goodbye? I remember you saying that if we were ever in
need of a place to kiss publicly we should remember to go to the railroad
station. You tried to tell funny little
jokes and make me laugh and I tried to be brave for you. I stood by the window where you sat and we
talked before the train started to go.
So many things to say and so little time. Then the train was going down the tracks and
I was waving frantically. I didn’t cry a
tear until then.
You wrote me every day and sometimes called me. I was lost without you. My heart was a hard lump in my breast and
each night I looked at your picture and cried a little. At that time 2 weeks separation seemed like 2
years. Then you called me from
Louisiana. Your voice was strong and vibrant
across the great distance of space. You
told me I was to come post haste to Meedville, Louisiana.
The next day I quit my job and was on a plane bound for
Meedville by 7:00 that night. I called
you at the camp. You couldn’t come in
until the next evening which was Saturday.
In my innocence of Army ways, I had pictured us together every night, but
I was soon to be disillusioned. Your
camp was 35 miles from Meedville and you could come in on weekends, that is, if
passes were being issued. I found a room
in a hotel and soon we were together again.
So much time to make up; 2 weeks since we had seen one another. We were so happy that first night. We talked far into the night.
I found myself a job.
We soon found that a Private’s pay doesn’t stretch far. I found a room in a cheap rooming house and
that became our heaven, our nest of love and joy. Weekends were wonderful. I’d rush home from work, get freshened up for
you and soon you’d be there. After
awhile we would go out and get something to eat, as we had no cooking privileges
in our room. I used to tell you of the
wonderful meals I would cook for you when we had a place of our own. You said all that could wait, just so we had
each other now. We would come back to
our room and listen to the radio and drink soft drinks. We didn’t have any money to spend on
entertainment, but we had all the entertainment we wanted to be together for
two whole evenings a week. You taught me
to play cards; to play poker. Those were
wonderful evenings together and our little room seemed like paradise on earth.
We had been married 3 months when your outfit went on
maneuvers. You were gone 6 weeks. During that time I found out that we were to
have a baby. I was happy, very happy,
but worried and scared. Then you were
back and called me to tell me that you were on your way into town. I was delirious. I rushed down the stairs to
hurry and get ready for you. I guess I
rushed too fast. I caught my foot on a
rough spot on the stair, and hurtled downward.
There was a terrible blinding flash of pain and then I remembered
nothing until I heard your dear voice.
You were standing beside me looking scared and helpless. I was in a hospital.
“Our baby,” I asked, “is it all right?”
“No Darling. There
won’t be any baby.”
It didn’t seem possible.
I had just found out about it. I
broke down completely then and they told you you must leave.
You were so good to me then, so sweet and tender and
loving. You got a 3-day pass and spent
every moment possible by my side. We
were sad about the baby, but knew there was lots of time for others.
You were transferred again, this time to Texas. I followed you as soon as possible and we had
a similar room there. We didn’t
mind. We could have found happiness
anywhere. You were a perfect love and a
perfect husband. Sometimes I used to
wonder if I were dreaming, if it could be possible for any two people to be so
completely happy. Then I remember the one
thing we did not talk about; the fact that soon you would be going overseas.
We would lie in bed at night and dream about our
future. We were going to have a large
family, possibly 3 boys and 3 girls. You
thought that we should wait until after the war to have them now, though. We decided that you should go on with your interrupted
education. You had only two years before
you would have your degree in engineering.
I said I would work part time to help out. Then we planned our little home, a small
white cottage with a green roof and green shutters. We were both tired of city dwelling and
wanted to have an acre or two out in the country where we could have flowers
and vegetables and maybe some berries.
Those were lovely dreams we had.
Before long we knew that the time would soon be there. The invasion was imminent in Europe and there
were many rumors around camp. We knew
that it couldn’t be too long and so we tried desperately to make every moment
count, to live each moment together to the full, to drink in the joy of being
together before you went away.
It was Saturday night and we had been married 6 months. I dressed especially for you that night. I wore the green dress you loved so well, the
one which you said, quite plainly, showed off my shape. I fixed my hair the way you liked it best and
waited for you to come. I could tell by
your face when you came that something was wrong, but you denied it. You brought me red roses. I held them to my breast, buried my face in
them and drank in their beauty. You said
we would go to Dalli’s for supper to celebrate.
Dalli’s was the most exclusive restaurant in town.
“Did you enjoy your food, Sweetheart?” you asked me.
“It was marvelous.
You are a very thoughtful and considerate husband.”
“I should be considerate of anyone so lovely as you. Six months darling, it doesn’t seem like
we’ve been married that long does it?
But I suppose time always goes fast when you’re happy. I am so happy with you, my darling. So very, very happy.”
We were very gay that night.
We danced until 2:00 in the morning and then walked the long way
home. We stopped at Joe’s Place and had
hamburgers. It was just like when we
were in school together and had just enough money left for a hamburger after a
show.
We were in bed and you held me tight, your hands caressing
me.
“Darling, there’s something I have to tell you.”
“Darling, don’t you suppose that I know you by now? Don’t you know that I know what’s been
troubling you tonight? You got your
orders didn’t you?”
“Yes, but I didn’t want you to know tonight, not on our
wedding anniversary. We’ll have tomorrow
together and then that will be all.”
“What do you mean that will be all? This is only a brief interlude in our
lives. We have years ahead of us. Darling, we’ll see the day when we’re sitting
on the porch of our little white house with the green roof and green shutters
and holding hands and up will walk a little girl or boy and it will be our
grandchild. Don’t you know that?” I was trying to console you. Trying to pretend that I was brave about it.
“Jean, I know it’s a terrible thing to say, but I feel that
I can’t leave you, that if I do we’ll be apart forever. Oh, forgive me for saying that, I don’t know
what I’m saying. I’m so upset. Now don’t cry, Darling, please don’t cry.” You tried to comfort me. You kissed me and caressed me and told me of
your love and how you would miss me so, but the time would pass swiftly and
soon we would be together again. I soon
ceased crying and went to sleep in your arms.
We went to Church the next day and prayed together for your
safety and speedy return. Then we walked
in the Park and talked. The wind was
cold and bitter that day but we didn’t mind.
We sat on a park bench and watched the pigeons. We were alone in the Universe. A boy and a girl who were terribly in love
and who were trying to live those last few hours to the full.
Goodbye was heart-rending.
You looked at me long and hard and there were tears in your eyes. Then we clung together for that one last
time. When you were gone all of the
tears that had been building up in me tore loose like water over a dam.
I returned home to California and was soon writing you at an
APO number. V-mail letters. At first I heard nothing from you. I tried not to worry and then one day I got
dozens of letters, one for almost every day you had been away. I sorted them according to dates and read
them hungrily. You were lonesome, you
missed me, you loved me, you played poked with the fellows, you missed me. You got seasick, terribly seasick, you missed
me terribly, you loved me. What
beautiful letters they were. I treasured
each of them individually.
Could an existence on letters be called complete? I think not, but how fortunate we were able
to keep in contact that way. You sent me
linens from Ireland. You wrote me
fascinating letters about Ireland, Scotland and England told me of the
interesting people you met. You always
made friends readily wherever you went.
June 6, 1944 and the invasion of Normandy. Were you in it? I and millions of mothers, wives and
sweethearts waited and wondered. The
newspapers and radio told of the fighting and my heart was sick and sore. Then one day I returned home from work and
set about preparing something to eat.
There had been nothing in the mailbox from you and I was filled with
melancholia. The doorbell rang. It was Western Union. My heart was filled with terror.
The War Department regrets to inform you……..
Wounded in action.
Oh, thank God, thank God! Wounded
and not killed, but how seriously? How
was I to know? I had no one to turn to,
no one to comfort me. I prayed long and
hard that night and God did hear my prayer for soon I had a letter from you,
written in a strange hand, but your words, your sentiments. I cried when I read it. I cried until the page was blurred and the
words almost indistinguishable. You had
been hit by a mortar shell, but it was not a serious injury. It had not received attention in time and had
become quite badly infected but was progressing rapidly. You were in a hospital in England and a nurse
was writing this letter. It was your
right arm that was hit.
I received many letters in the handwriting of that nurse,
and then your own dear handwriting again, shaky, but all your own. You recovered soon and were sent back to
combat.
Those were anxious days, days of waiting while the troops
pushed steadily ahead to Berlin. Oh,
there were setbacks, of course, but at long last it was over and the news was
flashed around the world that the Germans were beaten, crushed completely. Now you could be home. It couldn’t be much longer now. Your letters were regular now and promised of
your early return. It was spring, a new
and glorious spring which foretold a new life for us when we would be together
always, without war and continents between us.
Then your letters changed.
I didn’t know it then, but in looking them over now I can readily see
it. I was stunned when you said that you
had volunteered to stay over for the army of occupation. I couldn’t believe that it could be so. You gave as your reason that you thought
there was a job to be done and that there was no purpose in winning the war if
our nation could not secure the peace.
All very noble of you, but I didn’t feel noble, I was a woman who had
been without her man for 3 years and I wanted you with me. I read your letter over and over trying to
read between the lines, to discern your motive for this. It was impossible for me to understand.
You still wrote me regularly. My heart was heavy but my eyes were dry. I had cried so much it seemed I could never
cry again. You sent me perfume from
Paris where you spent a leave. You sent
me souvenir pictures from Berlin. You
told me of the old castle where you were quartered. You said you were seeing a lot of the country
and getting a liberal education in the German way of life.
Our third wedding anniversary came and the florist delivered
red roses. Our fourth anniversary came
and more red roses. I knew that
something was wrong by this time. Your
letters were noticeably changed by now, but I kept hoping, always hoping.
And now our fifth wedding anniversary. I didn’t receive the red roses, but I did
receive your letter. Yes, my darling, I
can’t believe that you planned it this way, but it came today, August 5, 1947.
She laid down her pen.
She was a lovely girl of about 25 years of age and she sat before a desk
in a small apartment. She was dressed in
a blue negligee and looked very lovely with her hair falling softly about her
shoulders. She read what she had
written, gave a short laugh and folded it together and slowly tore it into
miniature pieces and dropped them one by one into a wastebasket. Then she picked up a letter that lay on the
desk and read it through again.
“Jean Dear, I know I should have done this long ago, but I
was a coward. How can I say what I have
to say without hurting you? If I only
could know that you have changed too, it would not be so difficult. I’ll come right to the point. I’ve fallen in
love with a girl in Berlin. I want to
marry her and I want you to divorce me.
I hope this isn’t going to hurt too much, but we were apart for so long
and she was here close by. But I am not
going to make excuses, I feel too much like a heel anyway, and I do love her
very much. I hope you will be willing to
divorce me, and I know how fair about everything you have always been. Please let me hear from you soon. Forgive me.
May God bless you. Ted.”
She took this letter and slowly tore it into bits where it
fell, slowly into the wastebasket where the other letter lay.
The End.
